The Other Woman
by Boogum
Summary: There were no explanations, no dramatic confrontations. He just slowly slipped away from her, not even bothering to make excuses of where he had been or why he no longer wished to kiss his wife.


**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/n: I had this idea pop into my head one day, and, before I knew it, a whole fic had been spawned in my mind. I should also mention that this is my first foray into this kind of writing, so it may seem a bit rough around the edges. I guess it'll be a learning process for all of us, ahah.**

The Other Woman

You heard about it in the tabloids every day. Mrs so-and-so had caught her husband having sex with the over-endowed secretary in his office; Mr Brown had discovered that his wife had lied about visiting poor cousin Harriet, and had instead spent an educational weekend with her legs spread wide for his much younger, and handsomer, brother. Such little affairs seemed to crop up everywhere, nasty common things that they were, and one couldn't help but pity the fools that were victim to them.

Narcissa Malfoy was just such a person. She pitied those of her sex that had to suffer the humiliation of having an unfaithful husband. In some ways, she also looked down upon them. To her it was the highest folly that a man could look for pleasure elsewhere if he had a wife who was more than willing to cater to his needs. Her own marriage of twenty-seven years had not seen so much as a whisper of an affair. She was a good wife, a wife who had given her husband a healthy son that had grown up to be a fine man of twenty-five. She always knew how to please her husband.

That was why she had not been prepared for the scene that had greeted her eyes when she had returned home from a mundane dinner spent discussing society gossip with the Parkinsons.

Entering the house and calling for their new house-elf, Sooky, to take her coat, Narcissa paused just a moment to look in the mirror to check that her hair and appearance was still immaculate (which it was) and then made her way gracefully towards the room that had been designated as her husband's office. He had not been able to come to the dinner because of a meeting with someone from the Ministry, but that was nothing new. She knew she would find him in his office now.

Narcissa was but a few steps away from the door when she first heard the soft noises coming from inside the room. It had puzzled her at first, but it was so quiet that one could not tell exactly what the sound was. She dismissed it as nothing and pushed the door open.

It was strange how she knew as soon as she had opened the door that something was wrong. Her eyes seemed to instinctively know where to look, moving right past the empty chair to the couch that was now occupied by a couple moving in a rather indecent way together. The man had his back to her, but the shade of blond that adorned his head was unmistakable.

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. Only two men could boast to having that particular shade of blond, and though she wished that it was her son who was now on the couch thrusting himself into a young and beautiful redhead, it was long, blond hair that the unknown woman was running her fingers through; hair that Narcissa herself had tangled her hands in as she had moaned in pleasure during those passionate moments.

Neither Lucius nor the other woman had noticed her intrusion. It was sickening that they could be so absorbed in each other as to not realise that the door had opened, but Narcissa found herself somehow fascinated by what she was seeing all the same. Her husband, the man who had promised to remain faithful to her for the rest of her life, was having sex with another woman right before her eyes.

The people that were splashed all over the magazines would have started yelling by now and making a dramatic scene. Narcissa simply noted with an almost detached interest that the redhead had a body much curvier than her own and that her husband was far more aggressive with this female than he had ever been with her.

It was only when the redhead let out another soft moan that Narcissa found the will to leave. The sound of another woman being pleasured by her husband was somehow worse than facing the act itself.

Shutting the door softly behind her, Narcissa turned and walked with all her usual grace up to her room. She sat down on the stool before her mirror and stared at the woman reflected back at her. Blonde hair, not tresses of red, was twisted elegantly into a bun. Blue eyes, not brown, gazed at her with impassive observation. Her lips were thin, delicate—as were the rest of her features. Time had creased wrinkles near her eyes, but her pale skin was flawless just the same. She was beautiful, if a little cold in appearance. She was also nothing at all like the youthful woman now entangled in her husband's arms.

Narcissa's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but her expression remained as composed as ever. She reached up slender fingers and started removing the pins from her hair, allowing it to fall loosely around her waist. Then she began to brush it; calm, methodical brushes that gave no impression that she may have just seen something to upset her.

She counted one hundred brush strokes, just as her mother had taught her, and then placed the brush down. Her hair was silky and straight now. Perfect. She stood up from the stool, kicking off her shoes, and began to remove her clothes, folding neatly and putting away what needed to be folded and hanging up on the coat hanger what needed to be hung. She then slipped on one of her nightdresses and walked into the adjoining bathroom, where she began to calmly wipe her makeup off.

It was when she was just drying her face lightly with a towel that Lucius Malfoy walked into the bathroom.

"You're back early," he commented, voice and expression telling nothing, as he leaned down to turn on the bath. "Was the dinner so tedious?"

"It was no different than usual," she replied with perfect composure. Her eyes focussed on him through the mirror. "Did your meeting go well?"

"It was like your dinner. No different than usual."

"I see…"

He crossed the room and leaned down to give her a kiss on the lips. She allowed him to do so.

"I'm going to have a bath. You don't need to wait up for me."

Narcissa just nodded and then quietly left the room. She moved towards the bed, the same bed that had been hers ever since she had first married her husband at the tender age of nineteen. Like everything in the room, it was perfect, with not a crease out of place. Its perfection seemed to mock her in that moment.

Her eyes closed. No tears fell. Her body did not tremble. She just stood there alone, hearing the water running in the other room as her husband washed away the adulterous lust that clung to his skin. Nothing could wash away what she had seen, though.

It was in that moment that Narcissa realised she had become one of those pathetic women she had used to pity and look down upon so much. Her husband, the man who she had thought loved her with all of his heart, had found pleasure in another woman. The perfection of her life had been broken. The illusion of a happy marriage shattered with one, simple action.

She didn't cry. She didn't break down. She just pushed her hair away from her face and slipped into the bed. When she felt Lucius come in beside her later, she didn't push him away. When he wrapped his arms around her waist and started to plant feather-light kisses on her neck, she remained perfectly submissive to his attentions. And when he pushed her nightdress up her thighs and eased himself inside her, she simply closed her eyes, imagining that he was not doing this just after being with another woman, and let her mind slip away with his love.

**XX**

She met with her friends at one of their favourite haunts later that week. Mrs Greengrass was complaining that she thought her husband was having an affair with the cook. Violet Parkinson scolded her for being foolish enough to keep a female cook at all when a house-elf could do the same work ("and without the temptation of breasts and an easy lay, I might add," pointed out that sharp-faced woman). This, naturally, started off a discussion about the many affairs their husbands had indulged in.

Narcissa remained quiet throughout the conversation. She knew that her husband had been with the other woman again that week, though, thankfully, not in his office. There had been no mistaking the signs, though. He had behaved no different than he usually did, but she had seen the satisfaction in his eyes—that same satisfaction that only she had once been able to give him.

"You're lucky, Narcissa," sighed Druella Greengrass, snapping the blonde from her thoughts. "Your husband is actually faithful to you."

Narcissa just smiled. The irony of the situation would have broken a lesser woman, but Narcissa was not one of those women. Her face was a mask of cool haughtiness that hid everything vulnerable. No one was admitted to see what lay beyond that perfect face; not even her own eyes.

The women continued to chatter. Narcissa's attention began to wander. Her eyes shifted to stare out the window. She froze when she saw a young woman walk past with very familiar red hair.

Narcissa stood up.

"Where are you going?" demanded Violet.

"I just saw someone I wanted to speak to," muttered Narcissa, breaking all codes of propriety as she abruptly left the table without so much as an apology.

She left the café and followed the redhead down the street. She would not do anything so demeaning as to call out to the other woman, though she wasn't even really sure why she was following the woman in the first place. Something was pulling her forward, though; something that refused to be denied.

The redhead stopped and admired a dress on display in one of the shop windows. Narcissa came to stand next to here.

"Excuse me," said Narcissa composedly.

The young woman turned. She was beautiful, in a vibrant, youthful way, but there was a certain stubbornness about her chin that suggested there was a temper behind the loveliness. There was no sign of that temper right now, however. The redhead simply stared, brown eyes widening in slight alarm, her cheeks glowing with a light flush.

"I'm sorry," said the redhead, if a little cautiously. "Are you talking to me?"

Narcissa hesitated. Now that she was here, she didn't know what she wanted to say. Did she want to confront this person who had slept with her husband? Or was it merely the masochistic need to stare into the eyes of the woman who shared her husband's affection?

"Mrs Malfoy?"

Something in that name brought her back to life.

Narcissa stepped back. "No," she said with wry smile. "I seem to have made a mistake. I thought you were someone I knew."

The redhead visibly relaxed. "Oh, I see. Well, I work in the same department as your husband. Perhaps you've just seen me there before?"

"Perhaps," agreed Narcissa.

There was nothing more to be said. The redhead left with a polite goodbye and continued down the street. Narcissa watched her progress, an indescribable feeling of emptiness building inside her.

So that was the other woman. That was the person who had intruded on her marriage and captured her husband's eye: this young, beautiful and seemingly independent woman. A woman, who Narcissa couldn't help but notice, was the complete opposite of herself in every way.

Ginevra Weasley.

**XX**

The days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months. Narcissa was always aware of the fact that she was sharing her husband with another woman, but not once did a word of this knowledge pass her lips. She was too conscious of the scandal it would create, and never would she consider doing anything so vulgar as filing for a divorce. She would not be one of those woman plastered on the tabloids, humiliated and pitied by others for losing the love of her husband.

And so Narcissa continued to live her life as she always had. From an outsider's point of view, her marriage seemed just as perfect as it always had been. Lucius behaved no differently towards her, taking pleasure in her when he desired, though Narcissa couldn't help but notice that his weekend meetings were becoming more and more frequent.

It wasn't until he stopped coming to her bed altogether that she began to feel the true pain of what was happening. There were no explanations, no dramatic confrontations. He just slowly slipped away from her, not even bothering to make excuses of where he had been or why he no longer wished to kiss his wife.

She wondered if he had known all along that she had seen him in his office that day. Or perhaps he had discovered it later but had realised that she was not brave enough to leave him anyway? Either way, it was obvious that he no longer cared if she knew about his affair or not.

He grew careless, inviting his mistress over to the manor whenever the opportunity arose. Narcissa frequently came home to find the redhead just leaving, her husband lounging on the chair, perfectly at ease, with his clothes still dishevelled and the imprint of sex all over him. Every time he would raise his eyebrow at her, as if daring her to say something.

She never did.

Years later she would wonder if things might have been different had she confronted her husband. She would wonder if it was her fault that he had strayed to another woman, or if it was just one of those things that happened that no one could control. In that moment, however, only one question had plagued her mind:

Would it ever stop?

**XX**

The sky was a fitting shade of grey; the same colour that had once painted his eyes. Everyone was in black, gathered around the grave where the coffin was being lowered. Her son stood next to her, one arm wrapped around his wife, with his free hand resting on the shoulder of his own son, Scorpius Malfoy.

Narcissa lifted her eyes from the grave that was steadily being filled with dirt, her gaze instinctively passing over the black-garbed figures to land on a woman with vibrant red hair who was standing a little part away from the crowd. There was a young boy standing beside the woman; a boy who could have been Scorpius' twin, they were so similar in age and appearance.

Astoria, her daughter-in-law, would later comment that it was disgusting how _that_ _woman_ had turned up to the funeral and flaunted her bastard child in front of the family like that. Narcissa would say nothing in reply. Her thoughts remained with the woman and boy she had seen under that grey sky, remembering how their tearless faces had stared at the grave that held the man who had forced all of their lives to collide so ruinously together.

He was the only thing they had shared in common. The only thing they would ever share in common. Narcissa knew that nothing would change between them. They would always be connected, always bonded by the man who had cruelly played with their hearts.

The wife and the other woman: enemies in principle, but allies in their pain.

**XX**

**A/N: Okay, that turned out WAY different to what I had planned. I'm really not sure if I'm happy with this or not. I think I'll just blame it on the fact that I've had writer's block lately. *cough***

**That being said, there will be a companion fic to follow this that will be taken from Ginny's point of view, and will actually explore the L/G relationship (and have proper dialogue!) Obviously, it will be long chaptered. So think of this like a prologue to the 'real' fic. **


End file.
